Erraticism
by Kaslyna
Summary: M/C and AU. Previously titled "Messed Up"; I came up with a better title. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Dignity's ending annoys me almost as much as the ending of ****The Giver****, so I'm being creative.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Unfortunately, Dick Wolf owns ALL the Law & Order shows, even if he abuses his characters, but that's a different story. Please don't sue; I don't even have a house in my name so you're not making money off me.**

**August 25, 2009**

**9:08 PM**

**DA's Office**

"Why?" his voice is so painful it slices through my ears like razors.

"Mike… I can't…" I whisper, tears now in my chocolate brown eyes.

He is about to speak as I silently get up, my heels clicking gently as I stalk away.

"Connie- Connie, wait up!" he grabs my wrists, his hands like two large tourniquets.

"Let go of me!" I hiss, menace in my voice and eyes.

He eases his grip, but doesn't let go as he whispers, "Please Connie… please… stay Connie… for me?"

"Begging isn't going to help you much," I growl.

"Connie… is it something I did? Something I said, perhaps?" he asks self-consciously.

_"Actually, yes, everything you do and say to me make me explode with happiness and I don't know why," _I think to myself, but of course I don't say this.

"Connie?"

"Hmmm?"

"What did I do, Connie?" his eyes are pleading.

I sigh, frown, and reply as coolly as possible, "That's none of your business."

"Hell yeah it is!"

"…Why is it?" I try not to laugh.

"Connie… I don't want to upset you," his breath tickles my skin; he's so close and his breath is so sweet…

_"Head out of the gutter, Connie," _I silently chastise myself.

"Thanks, Mike… but, you really didn't do much," I smile softly.

"At least let me walk you to your car?" he asks, admitting defeat.

I nod purposefully, "Sure. Thanks."

"Any time, Connie. It's your decision, of course… but please, consider staying?"

I roll my eyes, "Fine."

He grins impishly at me as he leads me out to my car.

"You up for a drink?" he asks.

"Always am," I retort.

"I'll buy?" he asks as we slide into his car.

"I'm not complaining," I respond, smiling.

He smiles back and guns the engine; we end up at a nearby bar, a small, cheap little place.

**August 26, 2009**

**1:06 AM**

**Connie's Apartment**

I throw the bills to the cabbie, giggling drunkenly.

He rolls his eyes, and Mike and I get out, extremely drunk as we limp up to the elevator. At my apartment, I make us each a cup of coffee and sit on his lap; as I mentioned, we're probably at least three times over the legal limit.

Coffee forgotten, I turn and kiss him; he kisses back sloppily, more like a puppy than a man, which normally would've grossed me out, but right now I think I'm too drunk to care.

Clothes are thrown everywhere; he carries me to the bedroom. He finds his way easily into me, both of us so unaware. It's like there's a sort of sheet between us; we're not ready. Still, it doesn't bother me as much as it should, and I'm sure it'll scare the crap out of me later on, but for right now, I'm too intoxicated to actually give a damn. Eventually he falls asleep inside of me, and I fall asleep soon afterwards.

**August 26, 2009**

**6:43 AM**

**Connie's Apartment**

I wake up in his arms; he's rolled out of me but he's sound asleep, snoring softly. The night comes flooding back and suddenly the pounding headache I have has absolutely nothing to do with my hangover. I sit up on the side of the bed, burying my head in my hands, the sheets tangled around my body as I cry quietly. I cry until I'm sure I won't be able to cry anymore.

"Connie?" he murmurs, snapping me out of my moment.

His hand gently reaches my lower back; without turning to look at him, I growl, "Don't you dare touch me."

"Connie…?" he seems confused and disoriented.

He gently wraps his arms about my waist, turning me so I'm forced to face him.

He sees that I'm crying and he swipes away the tears with his fingers. I slap him hard, then get up angrily and get dressed.

"Connie," he starts again, but the glare he receives shuts him up almost immediately.

"Do. Not. Say. My. Name. If. You. Value. My. Sanity," I hiss.

"Connie, I'm sorry," he whispers, tears in his voice as I close the bedroom door.


	2. Chapter 2

**September 6, 2009**

**4:01 PM**

**DA's Office**

It was odd, not being able to talk. We used to be able to talk about anything, but every time he tried to speak to me, I shut him down with a look. I knew I was hurting him probably; we'd been friends for almost three years, after all, and now all of a sudden I was being a total bitch. I don't even know why he bothered to try to talk to me anymore; after all, I was only adding lemon juice to his cuts, cuts most of the time a result of my actions and ideals, and he stuck around. I don't think I could tell him that I admired him more for this. We hadn't talked about it, and I didn't plan to broach the subject.

"Connie… please wait up… please talk to me?" I turn as I'm leaving, and his blue eyes are so desperate and pleading… I can't do it, I can't possibly hurt him any longer.

"I don't want to talk about it," I whisper, tears spilling over my cheeks; as if I don't already look like a big enough idiot.

"Okay, fine, don't talk, Connie, just please, please listen to me?" he allows.

I nod weakly and follow him into his office, sitting on his couch.

"Connie… you know I didn't mean to hurt you, don't you?" he asked.

Seeing as I wasn't responding, he continues, "We got drunk, we broke the rules. It happens, Connie. Life is shitty and sometimes we can prevent it and other times we can't. You're my best friend, truthfully, and I can't bear to lose you because of a stupid mistake. We're probably New York City's two biggest screw-ups, and I think we can work this out, all right? I know you're upset with me, and hell you have a right to be; it was _my _idea to get drinks. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be in this position, right. Connie please- please, please, I beg you, I'm sorry, Connie."

"Mike…"

"I'm sorry."

"Mike, I'm sorry I've been avoiding you lately… and what happened, happened; you're right, we made a mistake. I can't say I didn't enjoy myself, but hell, it was _my _fault for even agreeing to get drinks with you. You're totally right; we're both screw-ups and we deserve each other, but I hurt you by avoiding you. I guess you're my best friend, too."

He smiles and asks cautiously, "We good now?"

I snort, nod, and answer, "Yeah, we're good. We're all good now, Mike."

**September 8, 2009**

**7:04 PM**

**Connie's Apartment**

I'm on my couch, reading my book and listening to "Sunny Came Home" by Shawn Colvin on my iPod Nano. I close the book, close my eyes, and allow my mind to drift. I think about Mike and I can't help it. He was so beautiful, so vulnerable that night. I felt almost sadistic thinking about it; I was obsessing. Hmm, maybe I'd see a shrink; perhaps I was OCD. A knock sounds at the door, and I jolt, getting up to answer it, still in my boxers (okay, fine, they were Mike's, but I stole them from his house two years ago; sue me) and my lacy black camisole. I thought it was Irina, my 26-year-old neighbor; she sometimes came with her daughters, Elizabeth, who was four, and Maggie, who was a 19 months old.

"Mike," I breathe, covering my chest. I might as well have answered the door naked. This was perfect.

"I'm sorry, Connie, I should've called," he sighs.

"No, no it's fine, come in," I smile as I allow him to come in.

"This place looks like Katrina hit," he observes, chuckling slightly.

"I was looking for a book to read," I growl in explanation.

"Hey, easy, easy now… Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen? Didn't know you liked these kinds of books, Connie," he says, snatching the book off the couch.

"Stop snooping. What do you mean, Mike, by 'these kinds of books'?" I laugh.

"I meant classics. Also, sorry for snooping. I'll get a warrant," he apologizes sarcastically.

"Oh, ha, real mature, Mike," I snap bitterly, rolling my eyes.

"You want to grab a bite to eat?" he asks, grinning.

"That'd be perfect," I smile, going into my bedroom. That's all I remember before I fell to the floor, dizzy as hell.

**September 9, 2009**

**6:02 AM**

**Mercy General Hospital**

"Mike?" I ask fearfully, finally conscious.

"Easy now, Connie," he looks at me worriedly, pushing me down gently as I try to sit up.

"Ugh… Mike, what the hell happened? I feel like day-old shit," I groan, the world blurry.

"The doctor took a blood test; he put a rush order on it, so we'll know soon enough, though his premature diagnosis is mild dehydration," he sighs.

I nod slightly, "It's weird… I was feeling fine, you know? Then everything began spinning… I felt like I was going to be sick, and I passed out."

"Bloods are back," the doctor says, interrupting our conversation.

"Great, what's the verdict, doc?" I ask, smiling humorlessly.

"Mr. Cutter… could I speak to you in private, please?" he asks, ignoring my snide remark.

"Sure," he hesitantly leans over and kisses my forehead, almost unconsciously, surprising me as he leaves.

When Mike returns exactly seven minutes later, his face is… odd. Not necessarily grim, per se, but more… perplexed.

"Mike? What's wrong?" my voice rises in panic.

"Nothing, Connie," he replies in a dull monotone, staring at me blankly, and I don't believe him, naturally.

"Miss Rubirosa?" the doctor enters.

"What's wrong with me?" I demand.

"Well, I was right, mild dehydration, nothing too drastic," he exhales, and I instantly _know _he's withholding something.

"So, what's with the faces?" I inquire.

"Well… we found something else," he says softly, sympathetically. The two men share a long look, and he nods to Mike.

_"What the fuck is going on here?" _I wonder.

"What is it?" I ask, truly scared.

"You tested… positive for something," Mike admits quickly, in lieu of an explanation.

"What the fuck is it? Am I all right? Oh God, _please tell me I have more than six months to live, dammit_!" I cry out.

"You're fine," Mike comes over and gently massages my shoulders.

"…Then what…?" I ask, extremely confused.

"Miss Rubirosa you're…"

**A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger, just wanted to stretch the story to its limit. :P I know it's a little farfetched but what the hell?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: In no way am I a doctor, so sorry if this isn't accurate. I am also deeply sorry for the lack of updates; my thumb drive was lost, but thankfully, I found it. :D**

**September 9, 2009**

**6:23 AM**

**Mercy General Hospital**

"Miss Rubirosa you're…" the doctor shares a quiet look with Mike.

"What?" I whisper; STD's? HIV? Leukemia?

"Connie," Mike has a scared look on his face, "Doc… just tell her."

"All right, Miss Rubirosa, you're-" he starts, before being cut off by Mike.

"Pregnant," he blurts out.

I sit ramrod straight, "No- that's impossible! No way. I'm _not _pregnant! Isn't it too early to tell? It's only been two weeks- there's no way you can tell this early! You're kidding me, right? Mike, _please _tell me you're joking."

"I wish I could," he groans.

"A pregnancy wouldn't show up on a pregnancy test this early, but when we drew your blood… well, you're A+, and some of the cells, the prenatal ones… we could tell you were pregnant from your blood; they were AB+, and Mike tells me he's B+ and that you've never had a blood transfusion. You can't possibly take a pregnancy test so early, but it showed up here."

"Oh. My. Fucking. God," I bury my head in my hands and cry.

"There's an obstetrician coming up," Mike whispers softly into my ear.

**September 9, 2009**

**6:31 AM**

**Mercy General Hospital**

Her name is Daisy Reynolds. She's 5' 2" at most, sort of plump, with the palest skin and the reddest lips, an array of sandy freckles splashed on her face, hazel eyes and sandy curls that reach her waist. This is the worst cliché I've ever met.

"When do you think you got pregnant?" I wince as she asks.

"I _know _I got pregnant August 26," I mutter.

"Hmmm, I'd say you're due on or around May 10," she smiles.

Mike hasn't said a word; he's blankly staring at the lovely view of the rooftop out the window.

"Mike," I say.

"Connie?" he asks, turning.

"This is your baby, too, why not join us?" I grin, tears springing up in my eyes like the dork I am.

"Thank you," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed, placing his hand warily on my belly.

"Of course," I giggle a little bit.

When Daisy is done, I'm free to go. Mike checks me out of the hospital, and we stop by the CVS nearby to pick up prenatal vitamins on our way to my apartment.

**September 9, 2009**

**8:14 AM**

**DA's Office**

Once I've changed into jeans and a black button-down blouse, we leave my apartment for the office.

"How are we doing on our case?" he asks, not glancing up from his desk.

"Fine," I smile and he smiles back.

I have no idea _who _kisses who first, but the next thing I know, I'm on his lap, my lips on his hungrily, the both of us gasping for breath. His lips move to below my ear, nibbling. He sets me down on his desk and hovers over me, unbuttoning my shirt with such a savage passion. Mike's eyes sweep over my breasts and my lacy black bra as he allows his hands to glide smoothly across them, testing the feel of them in his hands. With his thumb, he gently presses my nipple, feeling me shudder as he does so. I moan quietly, my eyes clamped shut, as Mike begins to knead my breasts, massaging them.

"Wait," I pant, looking up at him.

"Yeah?" he grins.

"I can't- just let me get myself together, okay?" I gasp, sliding off the desk.

He frowns, but nods nonetheless. I mouth a "thank-you" and quickly pull my shirt on, fumbling with the buttons.

"I'm sorry, Connie."

"For what?" I stop, though I've only buttoned my shirt halfway.

"For touching you," he says.

"It's fine… I just don't feel like pulling a quickie right now," I sigh softly.

"You're so beautiful…" he breathes, coming up and wrapping his arms about my waist.

I tip my head back to kiss him.

"You taste delicious."

"Like what?" he sounds bemused.

"Like… like the sweetest perfume. Apples, cinnamon, sweat, and roses, as well as defiance and power," I elaborate.

"Very poetic, Ms. Rubirosa," he exhales his sweet scent upon my ear.

"Ah, but poetry is very easy with a muse, my dear," I breathe in his intoxicating scent.

"Am I your muse?"

"Indeed. I am addicted to you, to your scent, to your passion… your sheer willpower alone makes my head cloud and spin," I sigh with pleasure, my eyes closed, and my head resting gently on his shoulder.

"The same goes for you," he purrs.

"Thank you," I smile.

"When you smile, my dear… the whole room lights aglow. You are strong, you are courageous, you are amazing, you are intoxicating, you are gorgeous, and you are brave. You are the most wonderful person I have ever had the pleasure to know, and every time you become passionate about your work, I want so badly to redirect that passion to myself, to greedily drink in your scent, your beauty, your desire."

"You are a poet yourself, did you know?"

"I am only a poet around the people I adore," he murmurs into my ear.

"You adore me?"

"More than life itself."

"God, how the hell did I fall in love with such a fucking sap?" I playfully push his chest, my eyes darting to his face.

"Connie…"

"Oh my God, Mike!" I squeak.

"I have to think about this… about us," he strokes my cheek.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, hot tears spilling down my cheeks like twin rivers.

**September 9, 2009**

**10:02 AM**

**Connie's Apartment**

I'm on my couch with Pride & Prejudice, a box of Kleenex, and the TV remote; on the TV is a rerun of _"Seinfeld"_. I've got a grey-blue fleece blanket over me, my head on the pillow cushions, and as I read, my free hand flutters to the flat expanse of my belly. I can't visualize my belly getting larger, of the child I house.

There's an urgent knock at the door, and I groan, "Go away."

"Connie, please," he hollers.

"Use your damn key," I grumble, blowing my hair out of my face.

I hear the turn of the locks as Mike enters, using the key I'd given him about five months after we started working together.

He comes over and he lifts up my legs, sitting on the couch and placing them back in his lap, letting one hand fall on my belly, the other awkwardly slung about the couch.

"Done playing with me?" I growl.

"Connie," he pleads.

"I. Don't. Want. To. Hear. It," I hiss between my gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have… I was just surprised," he whispers.

"It's no secret, _Mike_, that I fell for you two years ago! _Six fucking months after we met_! I know you've been attracted to me, Mike, but _I love you_," I bite my bottom lip, willing my tear ducts to dry.

"I… I like you a lot, Connie… I just…"

"What is it? Never wanted to start a relationship with an assistant?" I sneer, malice in my dark eyes.

He blushes furiously and says, "Yes. I don't, Connie. You're different, though…"

"Oh, great, I guess I'll just get a new job. _Then _you won't be breaking your fucking promise!" I exclaim, sarcasm dripping from every word I spew.

"Connie…"

"Don't _Connie_ me, Mike! Dammit, I promised myself I wouldn't have a relationship with a coworker, either. Mike, this deal has a half-life of ten minutes before I haul your ass out there," I nod towards the door.

"I made a mistake," he says quietly, after a few minutes. He gets up, grabbing his coat, and leaves.

"Bastard!" I scream, weeping now, as embarrassed as I am to admit it.

"I'm sorry," he tries to amend, clicking the door shut.

Howling with fury, I yank the pillow from under me and throw it with all my might against the door. It's not satisfying, though. I grab the book, next, and I toss it against the door, an encouraging _thwack!_ Resounding through the apartment. I told the TV remote next, watching the batteries and parts spill out on the floor. I get up, grabbing the mug of decaffeinated peppermint tea from the coffee table.

"_GO THE FUCK TO HELL, YOU BASTARD!" _my cry is empathized by the shattering of the porcelain cup against the door. I grab my heels next, and I throw those, too, cussing at Mike. I throw several things in anguish before I collapse onto the couch and begin sobbing. I sit like that, head in my hands, bawling, limp as a corpse, for what seems like an eternity.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Since you've all been so patient, I will try to get Chapter 4 and 5 up real soon. :D I am very, very sorry about the delay. I blame ADHD and English class. **

**September 9, 2009**

**10:34 AM**

**Connie's Apartment**

I just sit there, until someone pounds on the door.

"Connie?" I hear Irina's timid voice.

Sniffling, I answer the door, "What?"

"God, you look like hell. Are you all right? I heard screaming and stuff breaking," she says.

"For starters, I'm _not_ fine," I sigh.

"What's wrong?" she frowns, guiding me to the couch.

"I'm pregnant and the father- he won't be with me," I whisper, trying not to cry, "I threw stuff at the door because I just wanted _so badly_ to hurt someone or something."

"I'm sorry," Irina hugs me.

We sit like that, two women trying to find solace, for a while.

**September 12, 2009**

**4:09 PM**

**DA's Office**

"I need to talk to you," he growls; we hadn't spoken more than we had to in three days.

"Grab a number," I hiss.

He grabs my arms and drags me into a conference room.

"Ow," I squint at him in disapproval.

"What the hell is going on with you, Connie? Irina told me you were _breaking _things after I left," he demands.

"First: None of your business. Second: I had a damn right to be angry, you fucking son-of-a-bitch!"

"Can you handle this, Connie?" his voice is softer, curious.

"Handle _what_?" I ask, cocking my head to the side.

"Being a mother."

I nod quietly.

We go on bickering about this for a little while, when suddenly his _very_ needy lips meet mine.

"What the fuck was that for?" I growl, kissing him back fiercely.

"I-I'll break my promise," he says against my lips.

"No," I pull away.

"Why not? Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Mike… I can't have you be with me only because you want me to be happy… I need you to be happy, too, Mike," I sigh.

"I am happy!" he protests.

"I- I need to think," I whisper, leaving the room.

In the bathroom, I throw up in the sink, unable to reach the toilet in time. When I'm done, I slide down against the wall, burying my head in my hands and crying.

**September 12, 2009**

**7:04 PM**

**Connie's Apartment**

I'm lying on my couch, exhausted. Mike has tried to call me too many times for my liking. I'm drinking a smoothie with my head back.

My hand flutters feebly to my stomach. I wanted to be a mother so badly, but not like this. Never like this. I wonder, yet again, if it is a boy or a girl, if it will be more like Mike or me. Right now, all I see in my mind is a fuzzy image of a life, hidden and lovely inside of me. The awe of carrying another being inside of you never got old. My Blackberry rings for the millionth time and I answer it impatiently.

"What?" I growl.

"Connie?" a timid Lupo says.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and say, "Sorry, I thought you were Mike. I'm kind of pissed at him right now."

"He told me," he chuckles.

"Did he put you up to this?" I growl, swinging my legs off the couch.

"No," he sighs, "I wanted to ask if you would get a drink with me."

"I can't," I say.

"Oh? Why not, hot date?" he teases.

"Something like that," I quip.

"With who? Anyone I know?" he asks, serious now.

"No, not that," I sigh, "I don't have a date, I'm just in a very bad mood and I need to be alone right now. Sorry, Cyrus."

"It's okay," he says, "Have a good evening."

"You, too," I tell him, smiling a bit, "Goodbye."

I hang up, place the phone down, and sink back into the sofa, where I have been spending several of my nights.

***

I wake up in my bed, and I hear snoring coming from the floor. I prop myself up on one elbow and look down to see Mike sound asleep on my carpet.

"What the hell?" I hiss, and he wakes up.

"I needed to talk to you," he says groggily, "So I came here, but you were asleep on the couch, so I moved you to the bed, and I guess I sort of fell asleep."

"Oh, _that's_ normal," I sneer.

"Consuela," he sounds haggard, and the use of my full name stops my inevitable rant.

"I'm going to shower," I growl, sliding out of the bed and heading to the bathroom.

"Do you want me to leave?" I turn, fingers slowly unbuttoning my blouse.

"No," I sigh, "It's okay, you can stay."

He nods, and I say, uncomfortably, "I need to get undressed, Mike. No offense."

He coughs, blushing furiously as he says, "Right. No problem."

Nodding to himself, he shoots me a small smile and leaves. I can't help smiling a bit at him, and I feel his eyes take in the way I nimbly shuck my shirt.

"Go!" I chuckle, slamming the door shut.

I hear him laughing and I mutter, "Horndog."

Smiling bemusedly, I discard my pants. As I fumble with the clasp on the back of my bra, I holler, "Would you mind getting us something to eat?"

"Sure," he says, "Where do you keep your takeout menus?"

"The drawer next to the sink," I say.

I shrug the bra easily off my shoulders and start the shower. I stand in front of the full-length mirror, fingers pressing into my still-flat stomach.

"I couldn't find-" I turn, seeing him at the door. I cross my arms defensively across my chest.

"It's okay," I say, hoping he will hear my double meaning.

He leaves, and I take off my panties, stepping into the shower.

"Connie?" I open the door a crack and shoot him an apologetic smile.

"Yeah?" I say.

He smiles nervously and asks, "Can I… can I?"

I understand his convoluted sentence and nod thoughtfully. I don't break eye contact with him as he strips free of his clothes, and when he steps in, I turn away shyly.

He takes the bar of soap and runs it down my back quietly, and for once, the silence is comfortable. He massages my shoulders gently and turns me around, washing off my front, hands lingering on my stomach. I look up and smile at him and he smiles back, bringing his hands to cup my face. My eyelids flutter closed as he leans in, lips meeting mine teasingly. When the kiss is broken, my eyes flutter open slowly, forehead pressed against his, breathing ragged. Our noses rub together and I grin at him before I start to wash him.

"I love you," he murmurs.

"I love you, too," I whisper girlishly, smiling as he cups my face and brings my lips up to his lustfully.

The second time is better than the first; the first should have been like this and we both know it as we entwine on my bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So I gave you all some Mike/Connie as a bribe to forgive me. 8O Well, I'm back, and I hope to have this up for Valentine's Day. I hate V-Day, don't ask, so sorry. Here's a fluffy chapter.**

**September 13, 2009**

**7:09 AM**

**Connie's Apartment**

The first thing I notice when I wake up is Mike's arm slung across my stomach. The second thing I notice is that I really need to pee. I sigh, lying back against the bed.

"Hey," he says groggily, stirring.

"Mike, would you mind moving? I have to use the bathroom," I say, sighing.

"Oh," he says, more awake now as removes his arm, "Sorry."

"It's okay," I lean down and kiss him quickly before I swing my legs over the side of the bed. "We will have to talk, Mike, after I'm done, okay?"

"Okay," he nods, "Am I in trouble?"

"I don't know yet," I smile softly, "Probably not."

He chuckles and says, "Go, use the bathroom. I'm not leaving any time soon."

I smile and dart off quickly into the bathroom. Once done, I wash my hands vigorously and splash some cold water on my face. Then I exit into the bedroom, lying down beside him in my robe.

"Last night was-"

"Better than the time we conceived the baby," I wince slightly, eliciting a small chuckle from him.

"How so?" he asks, propping himself up on an elbow.

"Well for one thing," I smile, "We were ready, and for another, we were completely sober."

He traces my lips with his finger and asks, "Want me to make you breakfast?"

"I was thinking about curry and rice," I wrinkle my nose and he throws his head back and laughs heartily.

"I don't know where we can get that this time of day," he mumbles, "But I'll tell you what, I'll take you to lunch."

"Deal," I smile, taking his hand and kissing it.

He gets up, and I raise an eyebrow elegantly at the sight of his naked form. My eyes travel over his muscled chest, his legs, his member, and a flash burn runs between my legs.

He bends down, kisses me pleasantly, and says, "I'll go cook something to feed the beast."

Mike pats me on the stomach gently and leaves the bedroom. I dress quickly in a navy blue turtleneck without sleeves and a pair of black slacks, and then I tiptoe quietly into the living room. Mike is hovering over the stove, and I grin.

"Cheese, bacon, and mushroom omelets," he explains, not bothering to look up.

"I'm hungry, so I'm pretty sure Junior is, too," I smile coyly as I sit on the counter.

"What am I going to do for clothes?" he asks casually.

"I'll ask Irina if Lukas has any extra clothes you can borrow," I tell him.

"Thanks," he mumbles, smiling briefly before going back to the omelets.

"It's Sunday, though," I say.

"You want to go to church?" he asks, an amused expression on his face.

I snort and say, "After our case with rapture site? Um, I'll pass."

He grins, flipping the stove off. He heaves a giant omelet onto a plate and puts it in front of me.

"I'm not an elephant, you know," I quip, raising my eyebrow.

"I know," he sighs, sitting down and digging in, "But you're eating for two now, Connie. You have to start eating more and whatnot."

I furrow my brow, sigh, but eat the entire omelet nonetheless.

Irina's boyfriend lends me some clothes and I give them to Mike. Lukas says he does not need them back and I help Mike change into them silently. He pulls me onto his chest as he stretches out on the couch. My head rests in the crook between his shoulder and neck, our hands folded subconsciously on my belly, the TV playing 27 Dresses.

"You like this movie?" he snorts.

"Yeah, I do," I say, smiling quietly at him.

He smiles, kisses me, and runs a hand through my hair.

"I love you," he murmurs, his lips on my ear.

I snuggle closer to him and he takes the throw blanket from the arm of the couch, laying it over us.

I yawn, exhausted, and Mike smiles knowingly and asks, "Tired?"

"Exhausted," I blink, wrapping my arms about his neck, "But I feel better with you."

Without another word, Mike silently lifts me up, and I bury my face in his chest, a small squeak coming out of my mouth, causing him to chuckle. Mike flips the TV off and then walks me into the bedroom. I look up and place a hand on his cheek. He lays me down on my bed.

"Where are your comfortable clothes?" he asks.

"Bottom drawer," I sigh.

He takes out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He comes over and removes my clothes, planting kisses along my exposed flesh.

"You want…?" he cocks his head to the side.

"I don't sleep with my bra on," I tell him, and he nods, unhooking my bra and using his teeth to shuck it.

He plants kisses on my breasts and my stomach, and then he quietly slips the pants up my legs, massaging my hips. I sit up a little bit to help him pull the sweatshirt over my head.

"You're entitled to a lazy day in bed," he murmurs, sighing pleasurably, "So beautiful, so beautiful, Consuela."

"Stop calling me that," I giggle, "It's very hard to sleep when you use my full name."

"Sorry," he grins and hugs me to him, "We'll take the day off and sleep."

"I love you," I whisper, a small smile creeping onto my face, "So fucking much."

"I love you, too," he chuckles and his lips meet mine. I yawn.

"You're tired," he observes, and I burrow my head into his chest.

"I am," I murmur, drifting off peacefully.


End file.
